


Collecting Strays

by writingramblr



Series: What We Are in the Dark [1]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adoption, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Ilvermorny, Credence Barebone Learning Magic, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Emotional handjobs, Father-Son Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Forbidden Love, Inspired by Fanart, M/M, Original Percival Graves is a Softie, Other, Pseudo-Incest, Surprise Kissing, but hey then, dont even think im that bad seriously even the kiss is short and sweet and he's like 17, for his boy ofc, just....okay, sort of, yeah basically thats it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-19
Updated: 2017-04-19
Packaged: 2018-10-21 02:37:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10675944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingramblr/pseuds/writingramblr
Summary: Future Auror Percival Graves gets a bit of a life changer on the way to lunch one day.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this first chap is pure fluff and you may leave having read it, and remain guilt free. if you read on, then well, welcome to my special kind of hell.  
> inspired by
> 
> [this art here](http://temariart.tumblr.com/post/159751618305/sorry-for-not-posting-here-in-a-while-ive-been) and [this artist deserve all of our thanks](http://temariart.tumblr.com/)

 

* * *

* * *

* * *

Finally he could escape the stuffy and boring environment MACUSA was becoming. What had happened to the promises of adventure, excitement, and near death? This was not what Percival had signed up for. As he ran a hand through his hair, nearly licking down to below his collar, and swished his coat, a going away graduation present from his mother, he turned the corner to approach Merlin’s Diner and felt something smack into his right leg. Had he missed a light pole?

“What the f-?”

He stopped just in time, mid-curse, as he looked down to find a small creature tugging on his coat, shiny cheeks pink with exertion and wet with tears staring up at him.

Their haircut was sloppy and looked as if it had been performed by a blind person, and the entire outfit screamed puritan.

But it was just a frightened child.

“Mister! Please sir, can you help me?”

They held their arms up, a universal signal even Percival ‘anti-child and young people’ Graves could interpret. 

“Um… are you lost?”

He tried to keep his distance, resisting the strong urge to pick them up, as they looked light as a feather anyhow, but now the child was hugging his leg, slipping inside his coat and clinging rather fervently, sneaking looks out from behind the fabric.

“Don’t wanna go back.”

Percival sighed, and shook his head. If he’d picked up literally anything else, a cold, a bug, a piece of lint, he could wipe it away and ignore it. As it was, the second he started moving, towards the diner, trying to pretend he didn’t have a small human attached to his limb, they let go, and simply followed in somber silence.

He held the door open a few seconds longer than he would have without anyone else nearby, and the child trailed in behind him, before crawling onto the booth seat beside him, and looking up and over at him with wide liquid eyes.

When the waitress came to take his order, he paused, and glanced to the child for a split second, catching a slack jawed expression, and amended his order to include a hot chocolate and a grilled cheese.

The waitress winked and then hurried off. 

Throughout the meal, Percival barely tasted his own food, but there were many an eager slurping and chomping sounds coming from the child, who acted as if they’d never had real food in their life.

The thought worried him, and when he pulled out a dragot and change, the child’s eyes widened again.

“Mister… what is that?”

He’d begun to think the child couldn’t speak, and he’d hallucinated the whole afternoon, all up until that point.

“It’s just for the food…”

He trailed off, as the child blinked over at him, with a few bread crumbs clinging to their chin and at the corners of their mouth. He wordlessly handed over a napkin, nearly big enough to cover the child’s lap, considering, and they actually turned pink, and then wiped their face delicately.

Not totally without manners then. 

It wasn’t until he’d started walking back to MACUSA that he realized someone somehow was going to need to obliviate the child. Obviously he couldn’t just send the little thing away without ensuring he wasn’t going to blab all the secrets of the wizarding world. Reluctantly, he stopped just inside the barrier of the building and turned to crouch down, closer to the eyeline of the child, but instead of looking confused, as the charm they’d stepped into the range of was meant to do to no-majs who accidentally wandered in, the child was staring past Percival’s shoulder, towards the gold and glass revolving doors, jaw slack and eyes wide with wonder.

“What’s that?”

Percival swallowed thickly, and wondered, what would the harm be, bringing them inside, just for a moment?

There seemed to be a very good chance that the child  _ wasn’t _ a no-maj, all things considered. “Come on, I’ll show you.”

He got to his feet, towering back over the child, and held out his hand, which they could just reach, by standing on their tip toes, and stretching out their own arm.

He bit his lip to keep from smiling. The entire thing was ridiculous. 

He hated children. He hated uneducated things.

He was a professional Auror-in-training for Mercy Lewis’ sake.

He found himself praying they wouldn’t run into anyone who knew him as he descended the steps, and almost walked right into Sera, who was emerging from a meeting, with a sheaf of papers clutched in hand. She nearly dropped them at the sight of him, little human in tow.

“Percy. Who’s that? Nephew of yours?”

Percival laughed, somewhat nervously,

“No, not at all. He followed me. He could see past the wards and charms. I was hoping to check and see if he was in the database, before I sent him to be wiped.”

Sera cocked a golden eyebrow at him, and he felt his own cheeks heating.

She had always been able to see right through his fibs or his stories, even though it had been years since their days at Ilvermorny.

“I didn’t realize you were in the habit of collecting strays, Percy.”

Before he could protest, she was pointing and nodding to the elevator.

“Tell Red to take you to the filing sector. Good afternoon little one.”

She gave a rare smile towards the child, and Percival didn’t even look to see the effect it had. Sera was charming, and he suspected she’d go far, Auror work was truly too easy for her.

“Who was that?”

“She’s a good friend of mine.”

“She’s pretty.”

“Yes, she is, isn’t she? Next time you see her, be sure to tell her that.”

Percival just barely resisted the urge to ruffle the child’s hair, mildly horrified at himself for the minor wave of fondness that washed through him at the shared sentiment. Up six floors, in the filing office, there was finally a revelation provided and something that surprised him more than being run into by a child in the first place.

They were a descendant from the Barebone line, but from a final forbidden alliance between a known witch and a no-maj man. 

“What happened to your parents?”

The child just blinked, and met his stare with completely innocent ignorance,

“I don’t know. I can’t remember.”

Beyond probing his memories, which would be confusing and no doubt frightening, there was little to be done. He was an orphan, had been staying at a no-maj orphanage for the last few years, until presumably, that day when he had run away. Percival couldn’t figure out why, until the child shivered and buried his face against his side, mumbling something about ‘ _ scary people.’ _

Someone had come by to adopt him, and he’d not liked them, Percival supposed.

“His letter is right on schedule. It will arrive in six years on June 13th, his eleventh birthday.”

“So he’s a half no-maj and half not?”

“With a very unique lineage. It’s anyone’s guess which house he’ll be better suited to.”

Percival glanced down at the child, who had finally emerged from his coat, and no longer looked on the verge of a breakdown, though a couple tears had slipped out.

“House? Am I going to live with you?”

He blinked, and looked almost like he wanted to smile.

Percival swallowed thickly, and tried to answer very carefully,

“At school. Your house will help you decide what to be when you grow up.”

Percival reached over to thumb the child’s cheek, brushing away the tears that had wetted his face, before he could stop himself.

The child actually beamed, so sudden and so bright, it made his heart stop for a moment.

“What’s your name, little one?”

He ignored the clerk, who seemed intent to answer the question before the child, who blurted out,

“Credence sir.”

“Do you not like Barebone for your surname?”

A frown, and Percival sighed, reminding himself he was addressing a child, not a fellow Auror.

“Your last name. Family name.”

The child, Credence, shook his head.

“No family. No name.”

“Nonsense...” He made a split second decision, and continued, “You can stay with me. If you want.”

The words left his mouth before he knew what he’d done, and there was another blinding smile, before the child flung themselves at him, tiny form clinging to his broad chest.

“Thank you sir!”

The clerk blinked and spluttered, and Percival just smiled grimly,

“So it’s Credence Graves then. Change that on the form, and update the address for the letter to be sent to my brownstone.”

  
And that was how Percival Graves, not quite junior Auror, became a newly minted Father.

* * *

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this be where the guilty feelings and such begin.

Over the years, it just became an accepted fact of life, Percival Graves, father to a young dark haired boy who looked just faintly (barely at all) like him, named Credence, was often around MACUSA, during summers and holidays off from school, whether to bring his father lunch, to go out with his father  _ to _ lunch, or simply to trail around him, silently, but taking notes constantly.

His fingers were black with ink, and his constant smile usually dazzled many of the young ladies and even some interns.

It was said that the President herself had actually attended his Ilvermorny graduation ceremony, along with his proud father of course.

It wasn’t until he came by to collect Percival for his eighteenth birthday lunch, early morning, that he had his first bit of trouble. Not trouble in the dangerous sense, but a wave of danger.

There was a cluster of people standing in front of the building, beyond the wards to keep out no-majs, and they seemed to be listening intently to a woman who was shouting something about how witches were corrupting the city, and living among them, looking just like anyone else, but capable of much wickedness.

Credence was considering slipping around and taking the side entrance when he caught sight of the leader, the one with the sharp voice and even meaner sort of expression.

His heart nearly stopped before grinding back into motion.

It was  _ her. _

The woman who’d wanted to take him away from the orphanage, to collect him, it was her who had made him run, flee, afraid to be taken somewhere worse than where he’d already been sleeping on the floor, with a thin blanket to protect him.

He shuddered, and then cast a disillusionment charm over himself before stepping delicately past the crowd, and sprinting for the front doors. He nearly bowled over Miss Tina and she was halfway through wishing him a happy birthday when she noticed his face.

“What’s wrong Credence?”

“It’s nothing… just, I saw someone I thought I knew.”

“In that crowd? I should hope not.”

He threw another glance behind him and then focused on Miss Tina, forcing a smile,

“No. My mistake.”

“Mister Graves is expecting you. Go on now, have a lovely day. You deserve it.”

“Thank you.”

She squeezed his hand, and then was on her way, leaving him disoriented, standing in the great foyer, before he blinked, and remembered his ultimate destination.

Standing outside the Director’s office, he only had to knock twice, and the door swung open, revealing the man himself, perched atop his desk, flipping through some folders.

“Credence, my boy. You look nice. New suit?”

He couldn’t help laughing,

“Yes Papa, you helped me pick it out last week, remember?”

He saw his father wince, just slightly, and then nod, seemingly to himself.

“Ah, yes. So where did you want to go? There’s a new bakery on twelfth. It serves sandwiches as well as sweets.”

“Are you trying to deprive me of my birthday cake?”

“You can’t have merely cake for lunch.”

Credence quirked a brow,

“I’m an adult. I think I can.”

His father swept over to pull him in for a hug that seemed more to intimidate just a touch, than convey just fondness, before whispering,

“Long as you live with me, you follow my rules, my boy.” 

Credence did his best to ignore just how smooth and dark his father’s voice fell when he spoke like that, but it didn’t really do much to quell the thoughts and dreams that had seemed to come out of nowhere.

Since graduating Ilvermorny, early, barely six months past now, he had turned eighteen, and with that, he knew he would need to start getting serious about his career, likely something to do with healing, as most Pukwudgie’s lent themselves to, though he was highly tempted to request some money for traveling. 

He greatly wanted to see some of the world before becoming settled in too much of a rut. His father was privileged to be allowed to travel on business to Europe occasionally, but it never lended itself to actual exploring. Usually he claimed he was stuck in dreary business meeting, delegations with other magical government people, and in general, bored out of his mind.

While at school, he’d made a handful of good friends, and done his best to ignore the general reputation and expectations that came with his name. As it was, after all, he wasn’t actually a  _ Graves _ by blood, merely from luck of his own choice. He was still amazed that he’d gotten so lucky to grow up in one of the most gifted households, under the roof and guidance of one of the original American Wizarding families descendants. Graves’ were talented and dedicated, with special skills in wandless and wordless magic, as well as a predilection for whiskey and scotch, unless another type of liquor jumped out at one upon tastings.

For Credence, that had been giggle water. 

He’d first encountered it in his final year at school, and taken a fondness for it home. His father had given him a bottle for Christmas, and they’d shared it, with Credence finishing it before his break ended.

Though every holiday with his adopted family had been wonderful, that one stood out the most in his mind. 

Perhaps for all the wrong reasons.

He didn’t even know if his father remembered, or if he thought  _ he _ had forgotten it, or hoped it. On New Year’s Eve, horrifically drunk off the gifted Giggle Water, Credence had nearly run into his father in the hallway, on a mission to go to his room to lay down, lest he spew his guts everywhere, as he was very dizzy and sleepy and yet felt light as air. There had been clumps of enchanted mistletoe hanging in every doorframe, but so far he’d avoided any awkwardness with aunt’s or nieces, only letting his grandmother give him a peck that was embarrassingly loud on his cheek earlier in the evening.

Percival Graves was a formidable man, even relaxed and three fingers of whiskey into the night, but upon seeing Credence he’d nearly melted and smiled,

“Time to turn in? It’s not even midnight yet.”

Credence pressed his lips together, and shook his head,

“Just not feeling so good.”

“Too much giggle water on an empty stomach can do that. I should have warned you to take it slower.”

“I ate! I just didn’t want seconds, or thirds.”

His father had smiled, understandingly.

“I know that my mother can be a little, pushy, with her food. But it’s so good. I almost wish I’d gotten some of her talent.”

“You do just fine, Papa.”

“Well, you go get some rest. I don’t want you to have a headache in the morning. As you know, it makes using a Portkey very unpleasant.”

He’d nodded, and tried to go, to step past, but his feet had been rooted to the spot, and he had panicked a moment, wondering if he’d accidentally wandered into a hex cast by a wayward cousin.

“It’s the mistletoe, I think. I’m going to murder someone when I find out whose idea it was.”

His father leaned in, grazing his forehead with a kiss, and then squeezed his shoulder,

“That should do it.”

Credence shifted again, and still couldn’t move.

He wasn’t sure now if it was the alcohol singing through his veins, or the charm, but his heartbeat was thundering in his ears, and his eyes locked on the bits of silver at his father’s temples.

He was right in front of him still, smiling warmly, hand braced over his collar.

“Papa, I-”

His father put his other hand to Credence’s face, thumb rubbing over his cheek, and down to press over his bottom lip, halting his wayward thoughts.

“Shh-hh, hold still.”

Like a butterfly wings was the brief brush of the man’s lips on his own, and instantly his feet were freed, but it was now shock holding him there, frozen, until his father was clearing his throat, and stepping away, mumbling something he couldn’t quite make out, while the place his hand had held Credence’s cheek felt so warm, he might have been about to catch fire.

 

Since that night, Credence hadn’t been unable to stop thinking about it. Sometimes the idea would come to him in dreams, blindsiding him inside a place where he couldn’t clamp down on the thought, couldn’t counter with how wrong it was, how impossible it was.

Adopted or not, there was no chance it had been anything more than an accident that he’d become Percival Graves’ son.

It certainly didn’t excuse the way his feelings had become a rapidly mish-mashed bundle of confusion, caught somewhere between adoration and obsession.

He found himself hoping that someone else,  _ any _ one else at MACUSA would catch his eye, that some junior Auror or intern would be intriguing, would want to get to know him, him, Credence Graves, the brand new Ilvermorny graduate on his way to becoming his own man in the world.

He might have had plenty of admirers, but no one made his stomach flutter or his heart skip a beat like seeing the Director did. Taking his father’s arm to leave for lunch made him double up his mental shields, even as they passed by Miss Queenie who was already engaged in conversation with someone else.

“What are your plans for the rest of the summer?”

Credence blinked, thrown off by the odd question. Had he not mentioned to his father the idea of joining him in Europe?

Merely for exploration of the other country. The fact they’d be staying in much closer quarters likely had no effect on him.

None at all.

“I uh, I’ll tell you when we can sit down.”

His father laughed,

“Okay, if you insist. Always so mysterious, my boy.”

The fond way his father tucked back one of the wild waves that had escaped his ponytail behind his ears made Credence bite his tongue to keep from leaning into it. ‘ _ No, bad, wrong, stop.’ _ He told himself.

 

* * *

 

Percival had never expected to be a father, much less to end up choosing fatherhood willingly, to juggle alongside having a career that could be called dangerous, risky, and by some, suicidal.

Instead of living a wild life and becoming the thrill seeker legend to stand out in his family line, he ended up retiring from being an Auror just a year after finishing his training to apply to become assistant Director of Magical Security. It was technically a desk job, with minor training duties. He ended up placed beneath Sera, who was well on her way to becoming Vice President. Little Credence had no idea about what the government consisted of, as well he shouldn’t have needed to yet, all he knew was that his father was going to be around a lot more than originally expected. 

The only anchor in his new daily life to keep him sane, as he couldn’t possibly vent his troubles to the little boy, was his exchanges with Theseus. His only friend across the pond, it felt like.

Once he’d gotten all his worries and fears out, promptly being told how silly he was being, it was like a veritable weight had been lifted off his shoulders. After all, the man had a little brother he’d nearly raised himself, he had plenty of advice for Percival.

So as every day became ‘bring your new son to work’ day, most evenings found him writing to Theseus with updates and new questions.

As Credence rode around most times in Percival’s arms or clinging to his shoulders and on his back, until he simply became too lanky and tall to do such a thing, and instead followed him around when he went on patrol inside MACUSA, before they would both return to Percival’s office, and Credence would be placed in a corner, with his own little desk, and books to study. 

Percival wanted to ensure that his adopted son had no disadvantages because of his birth, and would be able to keep up, and even graduate early from school if he wanted. Credence meanwhile was devouring every book placed in front of him that he could, and even more so, treated every meal like it was his last.

He grew out of that, and indeed, grew out of every item of clothing Percival had obtained for him within a year, and every year needed a new wardrobe, until he was eleven, and stuck to mainly just black tunics and black pants, going off to Ilvermorny, still looking a bit like a sprouting weed, with his dark scraggly hair that he refused to cut above his chin, insisting he wouldn’t be a mushroom ever again, and with his long pale hands that looked right at home clutching a wand and a stack of books.

However, like all Graves’, even adopted, Credence quickly became proficient at wandless magic. It was helpful, considering the requirements that made him leave his wand behind at school during every break and summer. So that the days he accompanied Percival to work, they would apparate together, and then Credence would spend his time he wasn’t studying, levitating and charming various objects. He never attempted wandless transfiguration, but was proficient at repairing, so if something he was trying to float fell, breaking or shattering at his feet, there was only a moment of hesitation and guilt, before it was back in one piece, and Percival had to resist the urge to clap for him.

It happened nearly once a day, after all.

Too much praise would go to his son’s head. 

By the time he was thirteen, his hair was nearly to his shoulders, rather reminding Percival of how his own had been the day they’d first met. He’d reluctantly trimmed his own to a more business appropriate length, and even taken up wearing a beard, to try and appear more like a mentor, and less like a friend to remind uppity Auror’s who was boss.

Credence told him it made him look like a kindly pirate. He took it as a compliment. Some nights would find them sitting in front of the fireplace, Credence curled up beside him, usually napping or reading something at a horrible angle, straining his eyes no doubt, while Percival held a decanter of whiskey in one hand, and petted his son’s long hair in the other.

It was those nights that tugged at Percival’s heartstrings, and reminded him that yes, all along he was destined for that. Being a father truly was one of the most rewarding experiences in the world, beyond working to keep it safe. Yet, he’d been gifted it, and there had never been a woman who’d caught his eye, nor had Credence complained from the lack of a mother.

It was just the two of them, and it was perfect.

He was probably a bit less than properly strict, even though he was very much so with his Aurors, when it came to Credence, he could probably have gotten away with murder, if it meant taking a burden off the courts.

No, no, he shouldn’t joke like that. His lovely boy wouldn’t hurt a fly.

Oh.

He was quite something else though. Talented beyond Percival’s imagination, and he could certainly imagine a lot of things that might come back to haunt him. Like how different they looked, how no one could possibly mistake them for father and son, but the world knew, so they called them that. Like how whenever Credence returned home from school for the holidays, and he knew they would need to go visit with his family, that he wished for things to be different. His son would go on and on about friends he’d made, and the things he’d learned, his favorite teachers were so and so, and could he believe that Miss Sera was coming to speak to his graduating class?

How time had flown, and yet crawled at the same time.

Credence had turned into a beautiful young man right in front of him, despite his best efforts to ignore it, and the New Year’s Eve blunder that would live in infamy was burned into his brain. The way he’d looked almost afraid, how his eyes had dropped to Percival’s mouth, and his own lips had been so plush and pink and a delicious temptation.

He deserved to be obliviated and tossed into the streets for even doing such a thing, he knew, but it was too late for that. He was in far too deep.

As Percival escorted his son to his birthday lunch, they dined together and Credence babbled happily about something, about how he wanted to visit London and Paris, and maybe even see if there were dragons still wandering the wilds of Romania. He was barely listening and comprehending, too lost in simply staring, drinking in the boy’s appearance before he would be forced to go back to pretending he was okay, it was fine, he wasn’t having forbidden feelings and conflicting thoughts about his own  _ son _ .

“Papa? Did you hear me?”

He blinked, and he found Credence leaning forward, a hand pressed over his own, tightly clenched around his soup spoon, which he nearly dropped in his haste to withdraw, swallowing rapidly and trying to maintain decorum.

“Oh yes. Sorry. Got a bit distracted. What were you saying?”

Credence’s hair really was getting ridiculous. He needed a trim. There was a dark wave that fell right along his sharp cheekbone, tickling along his jaw, almost making him look like some sort of… what were those hypnotizing creatures called? Veela?

“I was asking if I could maybe go with you next week, when you and the President go visit the Ministry? About that rash of attacks by the dark wizard?”

Percival started, and then shook his head,

“Of course not. No, Credence, you don’t need any unnecessary risk in your life. You’re just getting started. You should do some research about what branch of healing you want to go into, and you’re welcome to stay with me until you’ve gotten a few paychecks stored away.”

He didn’t miss the way Credence’s face fell, and he seemed to wilt, like a flower being pulled away from the sun.

Mercy Lewis, it hurt him sometimes, how  _ much _ he loved the boy.

“But Papa, I want to see the world, before I just settle on a career, and never have the chance again. When was the last time  _ you _ took a vacation?”

That was an armor piercing question, and Percival sat speechless for a few moments, as Credence stared at him, arms folded, dark brow quirking, and a smile began to curve over his lips, which really needed to stop being focused on.

“I’ve been raising you, my boy. Forgive me if frivolous things have taken a bit of a backseat, in the meantime.”

“I’m very grateful for you Papa, but you cannot keep being so selfish on my behalf. Come on, please. Let me travel. You can come too, of course. But only if you promise to let yourself have fun… hmm?”

Percival heaved a sigh, and he could already imagine a thousand things that could go wrong, most of all, having to share limited space during such travels with his son, but after all, he was already needing to go to Europe, what was the harm?

“Okay. I’m leaving for London on Friday night. You’ll need to ensure you’ve packed a couple weeks worth of things, cold weather climate, by then.”

It was Tuesday now, so Credence would have plenty of time, if he didn’t wait til the last minute, which he, like Percival, was sometimes wont to do.

“Thank you! Thank you so much!”

Credence took him by surprise, almost jumping out of his seat to fling his arms around Percival, hugging him so tight he forgot to breathe. Or maybe that was simply from such proximity to the sweetness of his smile, and the spice that told him his son had  _ borrowed _ some of his cologne, again.

* * *

 

War hero or not, the man was dangerously charming, and seemed to have some kind of… history with his father. When he had come over to introduce himself to Credence, and looked up to catch his father’s eye, he swore that he almost seemed mildly embarrassed.

His father never got flustered. Not even when the President was addressing him, or calling him in for a meeting because on of his trainees had messed up somehow.

Later, when at dinner, and with some minimal distance between himself and his father’s work colleagues, Credence dared ask the question.

“How do you know Mister Scamander?”

His father actually dropped his gaze to study his plate intently, and licked his lips before speaking. Credence thought he might pass out from the sudden weight that was pressing down on his chest, making it hard to breathe. Was it jealousy?

“He and I both served in the war. The no-maj’s called it a World War. we didn’t have to get involved of course, but at the time, I couldn’t think of anything else I wanted to do. How else better could I live up to my house? Warrior, you know.”

He smiled faintly, and met Credence’s probably stunned expression with just that, a gentle and fatherly pat of the hand that might as well have been a dismissive slap.

“But you haven’t seen him since…?”

His father quirked a brow, and took a long sip of his drink, before shrugging,

“Letters help one keep in touch when it’s too far to floo. You probably don’t remember, you were very little. We used to correspond three times a week when I first started training for the position beside Sera.”

“Why him?”

Credence’s outburst surprised even himself, and he wanted to bite his tongue, pull back the words, stop time, anything to erase it, but all he could do was school his expression into one of simple curiosity, and hope for the best.

His father swirled his glass thoughtfully, and tilted his head, before locking eyes with Credence in a firm manner that made it feel as if he was physically forcing him to remain still,

“He was someone I could trust. I don’t have a lot of friends, my boy, you know this. I’m hardly a social butterfly. I was alone, thrust into a daunting situation. I wasn’t about to admit defeat, to show weakness, to my family, so I went to Theseus for help.”

Credence was sorry he’d asked, regretting questioning his father, for touching upon what was clearly a sensitive subject, merely because of a foolish whim.

“I understand Papa. Forgive me if I seem rude.”

“Credence, for Merlin’s sake, you’re an adult. Don’t address me in such a formal manner. We’re family but we’re not living in the victorian age.”

“What would you prefer?”

His father sighed, and downed the rest of his drink, suddenly looking a bit weary,

“Dear old dad doesn’t much care. But I’m going to need a good night’s sleep before the next delegation meeting.”

Credence didn’t bother correcting his father on the fact that it was going to be a lunch meeting, and he planned to come back to the Ministry after, after he’d gone around and visited all of the touristy spots he wanted to.

“Okay. Dad. Let’s get you back to the room then.”

He grinned, and his father actually laughed, though it was a bit gravelly, no doubt due to the whiskey.

He ended up helping the man up the stairs, rather than risking apparating while not one hundred percent sober, and he tried to ignore the little thrill that shot through him having his father pressed up so close against him. Until of course they arrived inside the room, and his father let him go, and shuffled away to his own room. They shared a living space and a tiny semblance of a kitchen, along with a small balcony with a view of the bustling street that was Diagon Alley. 

“Wake me up at seven, will you, m’boy?”

His father’s voice traveled out from his room, while Credence was midway through changing into his sleep wear.

“Um, okay dad. You settled in alright?”

He threw on his bathrobe to cover his bare chest, as he’d only managed to tug on his pants, and crossed the living room to pause in the doorway of his father’s room.

He was sitting on the end of his bed, having properly removed his shoes and socks and unbuttoned his shirt, but was on the verge of falling asleep in that upright position it seemed.

“Hey, you need some help?”

His father flicked a finger and promptly sent his shirt off and flying halfway across the room, before transfiguring his trousers into something satin and more like shorts.

“Thank you, but no. Here, come give me a kiss. Then off you go.”

Credence could feel his cheeks instantly heating, and he hugged his robe tighter over his chest, 

“Uh, are you sure?”

“Mhm.”

He took a slow step forward, and made to peck at his father’s cheek, but there was a hand grasping the back of his neck, tugging him in close, and nearly crashing his lips onto Credence’s.

His eyes flew open in shock, and his father only hummed, determinedly keeping them together, for a moment that was agonizing as it stretched out, before he broke it with a groan,

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that…”

Credence’s heart was pounding a mile a minute, and he thought he might have accidentally fallen asleep, and was somehow conjuring it all up in his head perfectly.

His father’s gaze skittered away, and his fingers began to loosen from where they’d curled into the short strands of hair on the nape of his neck, and he was fading away, before Credence managed to find the words to reassure him it was fine, it’s fine, he wanted it,  _ he’d _ thought he would die first, but no, it had happened.

“Please, kiss me.”

Like a man starving, Credence fell into the man’s arms, inadvertently settling into his father’s lap in his eagerness to get closer, to have more, to feel to touch to  _ be held _ , like he was something precious, which he was, and their lips met again in a frantic press that quickly deepened so that he could lick into the man’s mouth, tasting the bite of whiskey mingling with the sweetness from his tea with honey.

* * *

Percival could feel as Credence clung to him, and he held just as tightly, not quite daring to believe what had just happened, but oh, so grateful he hadn’t been alone after all in wanting such a thing. The boy’s slim form nudged him back, lying easily atop him on his bed, and his heart stuttered to a halt for a moment before starting back up as Credence broke the kiss to nuzzle his cheek into the space between his neck and shoulder, smooth bare skin contacting his own.

He panted for air as the boy gently ground his hips down, as if experimenting, testing the waters in a way, dipping a toe in to see what his reaction would be. One of his hands splayed over his boy’s back, grasped at the fabric of his robe, before sliding down and pressing between their molded together bodies, just to cup against the hardness he could feel through his sleep pants.

“Oh… oh god.”

Credence was moaning into his chest, lips parted on a gasp as he rutted against Percival’s palm, the sound instantly going to his own cock, thickening as it was trapped beneath his pants waistband and under the boy’s thighs bracing over him.

“You’re a vision, you know that?”

Credence shook his head, and then pressed a line of kisses up his neck, somewhat sloppy, on the way back to kissing his mouth,

“No you.”

He smiled faintly, before he was mindless, drifting on a wave of arousal he’d been ignoring for months, maybe even a handful of years. It took little effort to bring Credence off under his palm, before he was shivering through aftershocks, pliant, and easily moved, to further up the bed, to properly be flipped onto his back, so that Percival could kiss him a bit more roughly, part the halves of his robe, and scatter kisses over so much bare skin.

“So beautiful.”

“Yours, only.”

Credence spoke so faintly, he thought he’d imagined it, but Percival chanced a look back down at him, and found him smiling, dreamily. Still in a post orgasmic bliss, he supposed.

“God help me, I would die for you to touch me.”

“Of course, anything.”

Credence blinked up at him, and Percival’s heart clenched in his chest.

“Would you?”

A tentative hand grazed his side, before moving with purpose to dip below the waistband of his silken pants, long fingers wrapped around his cock in seconds, driving all rational thought from his mind.

His hips moved automatically, while his arms braced at the sides of Credence’s head, and he could only kiss him, and break away to lean against the boy’s own shoulder, as he felt his climax fast approaching.

“Is it okay? Is this good?”

“Yes, yes, it’s perfect.”

Dimly, he noticed that Credence’s legs were parted beneath him, and shifting up to press against the sides of his waist, as he continued to fuck into the boy’s hand, thighs trembling with the effort to keep him from simply collapsing.

A thumb swiped over the slickness on the head of his cock, combined with a slight twist of the boy’s wrist, and Percival was gone, blowing hot and thick into his pants like some kind of pathetic Ilvermorny freshman, shuddering against Credence’s hand, tears stinging his eyes from the sheer sensory overload and pure relief that came from an orgasm at the hand of the one person he cared about most in the world.

When he came to again, and blinked away the wetness in his eyes, he found himself lying on his side, curled up against Credence’s back, clean and dry, with lights dimmed and a blanket over both of them.

“Shh-hh. You’re thinking too hard. Just get some rest, Percy.”

 

Running off to the meeting and having breakfast first was an impossibility when Percival woke up with an armful of Credence, snuggling tight against his chest and not willing to let him go off and shower, not yet, just five more minutes.

When he’d been growing up, until he’d gone off to Ilvermorny, Credence had occasionally come to Percival’s room, and asked in his little sweet polite tones if he could stay, if he could sleep beside his father to keep the monsters away.

He’d never been able to say no.

Now, the idea of waking up beside Credence in an entirely different context was suddenly vastly appealing, and even comforting. Further research into the theory that he might be part Veela, as that would certainly explain the constant allure and temptation he presented, could wait until they returned stateside. He wondered if he could even just pretend it had been a whim, while in Europe, forget their past, ignore the fact they shared a last name already, and a familial bond. Percival bit his tongue to keep the mad urge to laugh from bubbling up, considering he didn’t wish to wake or disturb his sleeping companion.

Realistically, there was no way it could possibly continue. It couldn’t. 

The story of Credence being adopted was well known sure, accepted by his family, though they still couldn’t quite understand  _ how _ Percival had come to adopt him in the first place, accidentally being followed to his place of work hadn’t flown back then, and still wouldn’t. But… did it matter?

He would become his own person, and step outside the shadow of the Graves family name. He’d even be pressured into taking a wife soon enough, if the Graves Matriarch had her way.

Percival tried to repress the shudder of anger at the thought.

He’d sooner allow Theseus to court his son than some strange woman. 

He was just setting them both up for failure, but it didn’t keep him from smiling so wide it hurt when Credence turned over, dark hair splashed over the pillows like a spilled inkwell, and blinked up at him, and gave an answering smile.

“Good morning.”

“Hello lovely.”

 

* * *

**end**

 


End file.
